Justin slid the paper he'd just finished scribbling over with logarithmic equations and derivations onto Dixon's desk, checking once again that his name atop the test was legible. It wouldn't do for Dixon to decide he couldn't read it and deny him his rightfully earned grade.

With a flare of one nostril and a twist of his upper lip, the homophobic teacher conveyed his opinion of Justin's efforts. Aloud, he only grunted a quiet, "Taylor," however, nodding in acknowledgement that the teenager could depart. Dixon had promised the students that they could leave once they completed the exam, not actually expecting anyone to finish before the class period ended.

Casting a quick look over his shoulder at Daphne, who was still toiling away on the weekly exam, Justin exited the classroom. The blond student wasn't surprised that he was the first to hand in his test, but he was a little startled to discover that it was just turning eight-thirty. Given the five minutes that the instructor had spent pontificating about what he expected from the "lazy, incompetent group," he'd barely needed twenty minutes to whip out the exam. Huh, it looked like the time tutoring Daph and the cheerleader was having an unexpected side benefit - he knew the material backwards and forwards.

Justin hesitated for a moment about what to do with the unanticipated bit of free time. He'd like to have a cigarette, but it was too fucking cold to trudge out to the bleachers for a smoke. Instead, he decided to head to the library to chat with Frau Rose and do some research for his American Government project, an essay on student rights and the constitutional ‘guarantee' of equal treatment.

While Justin was researching, at the loft, Brian was drumming his fingers restlessly against the dining room table.

"Relax," Cynthia urged her boss, as they watched Theodore send a fax on the landline machine, simultaneously speaking with the realtor on the phone.

"Did you get it, Hampson?" the accountant inquired in a bored voice. "If your fax runs out of paper again, I'm not resending the bid. Mr Kinney remains uncertain about the property, so it's a waste of my time to keep faxing you."

"Uncertain, my ass," the blond woman snickered quietly. "That's like saying the pope's uncertain about Jesus."

Brian irritably flapped a hand at her. "Shush," he ordered, straining to hear what Ted would say next. He'd wanted to put the call on speakerphone but conceded when his CFO argued that Hanson might hear their voices in the background and become suspicious that he was being bamboozled. It was only a remote possibility, but the adman didn't dare take the chance.

"Hampson," Ted spoke coldly, "the bid's for more than that old whorehouse is worth. If it weren't that my boss likes the idea of redeeming a den of sin, he wouldn't be submitting such a generous offer."

Cynthia snickered again, causing Brian to shoot a scathing glare in her direction. His recalcitrant employee merely rolled her eyes, however, not at all cowed. The adman could hear Ted's end of the conversation perfectly fine, but the lack of control over the situation was making him particularly irascible. It was probably a good thing, he reflected, that his secretary had ‘forgotten' to bring over an extra phone that he could plug into the jack in the bedroom area. If he'd been listening in, he'd undoubtedly have castigated the realtor for being a pathetic dimwit by now, which would bollocks up this opportunity to acquire the bathhouse for a song.

"That's right, Hampson," Ted's voice warmed marginally. "The owners should be grateful that Mr Kinney is willing to relieve them of such a white elephant - a former brothel - for a more than fair price. There certainly haven't been any other takers in the many months it's been for sale."

Christ. Brian winced. The older man was laying it on too thick; the hamster would never fall for it. Then again, he didn't hear any squawking noises coming from the receiver that Theodore was holding loosely against his ear, so maybe it would be okay...

"Not acceptable," Ted's voice frosted over again. "Mr Kinney is not willing to wait for two weeks to hear whether his bid has been accepted."

Cynthia gasped in dismay, and Brian almost echoed her. 

No way could they be ready to open in time for the new year if they had to wait that long just to find out the owners' decision. It was already a miracle that matters seemed to be aligning to make that grand opening possible; if he didn't know an experienced contractor like DC, who had connections at city hall and with the union, Brian suspected it would be three to four months before they could open the doors.

Brian glanced at his blonde assistant in surprise when she tugged gently at his arm. "What?" he tried to mouth at her, only to discover that he was biting at his thumbnail.

"Shit," he grumbled in disgust, immediately removing the tip of his thumb from between his teeth. He must've caught the nasty habit from the blond brat, who'd been chewing on his thumbnail while they were talking at the diner last night.

All thoughts of the expensive, ruined manicure fled his mind, however, when Ted spoke up, "By next Wednesday? That'll do, I suppose, as long as you understand that Mr Kinney's offer will start dropping as of Tuesday, December 5th."

This time, Brian could hear the squawk from the other end of the line, although it appeared to be an unformed sound, rather than actual words.

Ted held up a placating hand toward the adman, seeming to indicate he had it under control. He was blowing it, Brian fretted, chewing at his thumbnail again.

The CFO continued to play hardball, however. "It's up to you now, Hampson. If you really want to sell the property, I'm sure you'll be able to convince the owners to accept Mr Kinney's ample bid." After a brief pause, he agreed, "Yes, sooner rather than later would be best." He then ended the call without any sort of ‘goodbye'.

Cynthia voiced Brian's own apprehension, "Erm, didn't you maybe come on a bit too hard with the hamster? He might realise the bid is ridiculously low and tell the owners to blow you off."

"There's no such thing as too hard," Theodore quipped, smirking. "Hampson needs a firm hand."

Brian groaned, but couldn't repress a grin. The terrible humour was making him feel better about the situation, he realised. Plus, he was the first to agree that one couldn't be too hard. Quickly wrapping his fingers around his thumb to hide the evidence of his nervousness, he nonchalantly drawled, "Ted handled it just right; they're bound to accept the offer."

The accountant's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Who are you and what have you done with my friend?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"What?" Brian countered, amused. "You were just following the script I gave you."

Ted snorted. "You mean the ‘make him accept my offer, Theodore, or I'll fire you before you're even properly hired'? That was some script."

"Works every time," Brian averred with a smug smile.

"It does," the blonde woman confirmed. "I can't tell you how many times he pulled that same shtick at Ryder's, with the most amazing results. Oh, speaking of hiring and firing," she announced, "Bethany's going to hand in her resignation today. Since Ryder's such a penny-pincher with lower level staffing, the accounting department is short-handed, so she figures she'll probably have to work the whole two-week notice period."

"What's she going to say if anyone asks why she's leaving?" Brian asked, worried that Ryder might catch wind of his plans to open his own agency.

"A little fish like Bethany?" Cynthia rolled her eyes. "As if anyone's going to be curious about a junior accountant. Heck, most of the advertising execs haven't a clue where she works in the firm, and those that do think she's just a secretary."

Brian tilted his head to the left. "You mean she's not a secretary?" he asked, face serious. 

"Named Gertrude?" Theodore joined in.

"Traitor!" Cynthia accused, pointing at Ted. "I thought you were one of us hard-working minions."

"I am," Ted defended himself. "I was just channeling Brian for a moment, to see what it felt like."

"Yeah, right," Cynthia snarked. "Your head is getting big, Ted."

"Give it up," the adman concurred, laying a consoling hand on his friend's shoulder. "You can't possibly compete."

The older man lifted his hands in a gesture of exasperation, sighing. "I'm not even the one who started this, so why am I the one getting shit? Shouldn't we go back to talking about Ger- Bethany?"

"That's what happens when you open your mouth, Theodore," Brian joked.

"Oh, I thought that when you open your mouth, a cock flies in," Ted returned, deadpan. 

Cynthia gasped, "Good one! You win that round. Now, in regard to Bethany, I suggest both of you practice saying her name, so you don't end up calling her Gertrude by mistake."

"How about ‘Trudy'?" Brian proposed.

"You're incorrigible," the blonde woman groaned.

"Frieda?" Ted added.

"Bethany," Cynthia stressed, "appreciates your concern for her well-being, Brian. She won't try to solicit more clients for you until after she's worked her last day at Ryder. She will pass on any information she overhears about dissatisfied clients, however, especially those she knows you recruited."

Brian nodded, putting his business face back on. "So she'll be ready to begin working on, what, the twentieth?" 

Ted, who'd been looking at the calendar, considered this. "Maybe Monday, the eighteenth?" he theorized. "Unless she wants a short break after leaving Ryder's."

"She'll have to work out of the loft with us at first then," Brian concluded, looking around. "I might need another chair." 

"Huh?" Cynthia asked, lifting an eyebrow, pointing at the chairs around the table, and counting, "One, two, three, four."

Brian rolled his eyes. "I need to keep at least one free in case someone unexpectedly comes over," he explained as if she had just said something enormously stupid. "Or are you new to interior decorating?"

Before the secretary could issue a retort, Ted leaned over and whispered, "It's in case the other blond comes by."

"Bollocks," Brian interjected immediately. The blond brat would be doing most of his work at night, and he wouldn't need a chair for most of it anyway.

Theodore, who must've somehow read his mind - Brian was certain his thoughts hadn't shown on his face - murmured, "The theory is Justin will be working long and hard into the night, I take it."

Brian, whose thoughts had drifted to the two of them tangled up in his sheets, shifted uncomfortably. The third time had better be the fucking charm, he reflected. He was taking the blond home after he finished his shift at the diner today - come hell or high water.

When Brian didn't respond to Ted's witticism, Cynthia proposed, straight-faced, "For the short time period when we might need another chair, you could always roll your desk chair over here, boss." 

"That's a good idea," Ted chimed in. "If all goes according to schedule, the bathhouse will be ready for us to occupy it shortly after Christmas, and we'll be out of your hair."

"Whatever," Brian grumped, his mind still occupied with visions of the blond teenager naked in his bed, where he belonged.

"By the end of her first week, Bethany will be helping to oversee the setup of the new offices anyroad," Cynthia noted. "In fact, I doubt any of us will be spending all that much time in the loft at that point."

At St James, the blond Brian couldn't stop thinking about was trotting down the stairs toward the cafeteria. "Hmm, what culinary delight awaits us today?" he jested to his bestie.

"I've got us covered," Daphne assured him, "if it's another-"

She stopped speaking when she plowed into someone at the bottom of the stairs. "Oof," she said, looking down at a younger girl who was picking up the book she'd dropped, "sorry about that."

"No worries," the girl responded as she rose from her crouched position. "Oh, hey!" she then exclaimed, apparently recognising Justin.

It took him a moment before he realized this was Origami Girl, the red Chinese dragon fluttering from the strap of her backpack giving her away. "Hey up," he greeted her in return. "You survived a second week of detention okay?"

"Yeah." The girl shrugged as if it were no big deal, before grinning broadly. "Did you hear what happened to Bauer?"

Justin shook his head no.

"Apparently," the girl revealed, "he fell in the shower at home and broke his collarbone. He won't be back till next semester."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Justin snarked. "It must've been his meanness leaking out that made him slip." 

Daphne shared a smile of malicious satisfaction with them; the part-time detention instructor, part-time chemistry teacher, part-time athletic coach was unpopular with most of the student body. "Your dragon is really cool," she told the younger girl, admiring the creature as its wings dipped and rose. "Where'd you get it?"

"I made it," Origami Girl disclosed, her cheeks flushing with pleasure.

Justin eyed the red dragon more closely, the swift, deadly predator suddenly reminding him of Detective Wen. "I know someone who'd really like that," he claimed. "Could I talk you into making one for me? I could pay you for it."

"Oh, no. I'd never accept money from a fellow detainee," the girl quipped, "especially not one as kind-hearted as you. The way you stood up for Josh was way cool."

Who the fuck was Josh? Justin wondered, staring at the girl blankly.

"Oh, that's right, you probably don't know his name," the girl explained. "He's the scrawny frosh who was being bullied by that boneheaded jock."

The blond student just shrugged, rather embarrassed. He was hardly the Good Samaritan she was making him out to be.

"I'd be glad to make whatever kind of dragon you want," Origami Girl insisted, setting her backpack down and digging around inside. She pulled out a slender booklet and rifled through the pages. Handing it to Justin, she requested, "Choose the one you like best, and I'll fold it for you."

"Want to join us in the cafeteria?" Daphne suggested. "Jus can make a decision while we eat."

"Thanks, but it's too noisy for me in there," she declined the invitation. "You've got IT with Süc for your last period, right?" she asked Justin.

"Uh, yeah," Justin admitted. How the heck did Origami Girl know that?

"Great. I'll get the booklet - and your choice - from you after class," the girl stated, turning on her heel and walking away, the red dragon jauntily flapping its wings.

"I like her," Daphne asserted, chuckling at the dumbfounded look on her friend's face. "C'mon, Jus," she urged, "let's get some food, grab a seat, and check out those flying lizards."

The blond boy huffed at his friend in exasperation as they joined the line of students waiting to be served. "A dragon is more than a teensy flying lizard. They breathe fire! Can you imagine how massive Drogon's gonna be?"

Daphne argued, "He's still a flying lizard, just the biggest one in Game of Thrones. And if I'm correct about whom you want that origami dragon for, she wouldn't be at all bothered by the comparison to a ‘teensy' lizard. She's small, but mighty, from what you've said, right?"

Justin stared at her, perplexed, as the line of students inched forward. "How'd you know I was talking about the detective?"

"Please," Daph scoffed, hip-checking her friend, "we were just talking two nights ago about how she intimidated the crap out of you-know-who. Also, she's Chinese."

"Yeah, you're right," he acknowledged sheepishly. "And I bet she had you-know-who believing she's a fire-breather." Hmm, he mused, maybe he'd have smoke curling out of Detective Wen's nostrils in one of those caricatures he was drawing...

"Gah," Daphne mumbled as they reached the counter where the cook was ladling out the food.

"Ugh," Justin echoed her. "It's that weird rice pudding with apricots." 

"Don't you disparage it young man!" the burly female server glowered at the two friends, shaking the ladle at them and sending chunks of food flying every whichaway, students ducking in an effort to avoid the flying missiles. "It's good for your bowels!"

The blond made a moue of disgust, reaching up to remove a glob of the ‘healthy bowel' stuff from his hair.

Daphne snickered, right as the cook dumped an oversized portion into the bowl on her tray, flecks of the stuff landing on her navy blazer. "Shit!" she exclaimed, frantically brushing at her blazer. "My mum just had this dry-cleaned; she's gonna kill me."

It was Justin's turn to snicker, which he did, along with giving his friend a roll of his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen," he chastised, adding as he wiped away another smear from his hairline, "You're not the one with it dripping down your face."

"Now who's being a drama queen?" Daphne asked, arching a finely-sculpted eyebrow at her friend.

Justin hastily stepped back as the cook went to glop some of the gooey substance into his bowl. "Uh, I'm good," he said blandly. "I'll just share what you gave Daph; that size portion would be too much for her bowels."

After adding some overcooked broccoli, a couple of rolls, and two small cartons of milk to their trays, they moved away from the line of students. "Here, bestie," Daphne thrust her tray at him. "Since we're going to share, you take this and find us a place to sit. I'll be just a tick - I want to grab a damp paper towel and swipe at my jacket before this gunk sets in permanently."

With that, the girl was gone, rushing toward the restrooms at the back of the canteen. The blond carefully wended his way through the cafeteria, one tray in his hands, the other balanced precariously across his forearms, until he reached a couple of empty seats next to the windows. He squatted slightly to set down the tray in his hands, before easing the other one forward onto the table. He then rescued the origami catalog from beneath his arm and began leafing through it while he waited for his friend to return. He had no desire to eat the unappetizing food and thought he'd wait to see what Daphne had brought them, before revealing the crab cakes nestled inside a thermal food carrier in his rucksack. He probably should have told his friend about the cakes, he mused, but it had been so much fun to watch her get riled up - even if his hair had gotten doused with a product meant for one's bowels.

"I'm back," Daphne announced, holding out her arms as she moved to stand opposite him. "Did I get it all?"

The blond lad wasn't sure why the sight of his fully-clothed, petite friend made him flash back to that first night with Brian, the naked man's arms outstretched in an ‘I dare you to come and get it' sort of way. Maybe it was because he was still discombobulated from his conversation with Brian the night before.

"Jus?" Daph's voice and the snap of her fingers intruded on his reflections. "Did I get it all?" she repeated impatiently.

The teenager shifted in his seat, glad that he was sitting down, the tenting of his slacks hidden by the table. He couldn't think about a naked Brian and not experience that reaction. "Erm," he cleared his throat, casting a hasty look at the damp spots on Daphne's blazer, "I don't see any pudding bits."

"Thank fuck," the girl said, sinking into her seat. "What were you thinking about anyway? You totally spaced out on me."

He wasn't about to tell her - it might lead to a rerun of their ‘virginity' conversation. Thankfully he had a ready answer, since he did want his friend's advice about what had happened between Michael and Ben. First things first, however. "So," he inquired, pushing the tray with the unappetizing, crusty pudding toward Daphne, "what did you bring to relieve us from consuming this glop?"

"I don't want that anywhere near me!" the girl shrieked, pushing the tray back toward Justin. "It's got that yucky syrup on it - the kind they pour in your water when you're little so you'll drink the stuff." She patted her sleeves frantically, as if some of the sticky substance might have jumped onto her jacket. 

"Definitely a drama queen," the boy jested.

"I shouldn't share the good stuff, not when you're being such a dickwad," Daph protested, nevertheless digging around in her rucksack and then triumphantly holding aloft a package of Oreos. "I didn't forget them this time," she boasted.

"Guess you won't want any crab cakes then," Justin observed slyly.

"Crab cakes? Where? Gimme!" his best friend squealed, making grabby hands at him. 

The lad merely stared at her in amusement.

"C'mon, Jus," she wheedled with an adorable pout. "I brought dessert, and I'm willing to share."

"Well, all right," the blond teen said with feigned reluctance, taking the container with the crab cakes from his backpack. He dished half of the patties into his empty bowl - the one he hadn't let the cook fill with the revolting pudding - and nudged it across the table to Daphne.

"Mhmm," she moaned, immediately scarfing down one of the cakes. "They should have these at the diner all the time," she claimed around a mouthful of crabby goodness.

"Are you imitating Michael's eating habits?" Justin quipped.

Daphne shot him an offended look. "Am not," she objected. "Notice that I placed a hand in front of my mouth before speaking," she continued, wiggling the fingers of said hand at her friend.

"Um, let's change the subject," Justin proposed. "Thinking of how Michael masticates is putting me off my feed."

Daph nodded vehemently in agreement.

"There is another lesson in etiquette that I would like your opinion on, however," Justin disclosed. "I-"

"What'd you stick your foot into this time?" Daphne interjected, grinning mischievously at him.

"It's not about me," Justin protested, "at least not directly. It's that I don't know what to do about someone else's breach of etiquette."

"What'd this hypothetical person do?" the girl asked. "Claim his best friend's teddy bear for himself?"

"Christ," the blond chuckled ruefully. "I'd forgotten that I practically stole Gus-bear from you - according to my mother, that is. I can't actually remember that far back."

"My mum used to love to tell that tale, how she had to go out and buy another teddy for me." Daphne smiled in fond reminiscence. "I wish both our mothers still loved you as much as they did back then," she said sadly, placing a sympathetic hand on Justin's arm.

"Um, yeah," Justin choked out, dismayed to find himself becoming teary-eyed at the unexpected turn in the conversation. 

"Shit. I'm sorry," Daphne mumbled, clearly appalled by her faux pas in the midst of the student refectory. 

Justin cast an uneasy look around, blinking rapidly, grateful that no one else was seated at the small table. "The, uh, the breach of etiquette" - he stammered huskily as he got back on track - "is related to how friends should treat each other."

Giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it, Daphne gently teased, "That's not quite enough info for me to form an opinion, Jus. What happened?"

"Michael," Justin blurted, "it's not just the lessons in table manners that didn't take. He came on to a guy at the diner last night, someone who was clearly there with Ted."

"Ted has a boyfriend?" Daph inquired curiously, pronouncing, "Good for him." when Justin nodded. She paused for a moment, considering what her friend had divulged. "Are you sure it was more than harmless flirting?" she wondered. "I mean, that's a pretty normal thing to do. And I mean, coming onto the guy in front of Ted isn't exactly being stealthy - maybe he was just being his usual heavy-handed, dweeby self."

"It wasn't in front of Ted," Justin clarified. "And it was definitely more than just a bit of casual flirtation. Granted, you'd have to be blind not to notice how good-looking Ben is - that's Ted's beau - and not be attracted to him. I had a bit of fun myself, but that was all it was - fun."

"Get on with it," Daph ordered, exasperation tinging her voice when Justin stopped speaking again.

The blond, who was looking directly at the girl, noticed the way her eyes darted away from his, a surefire giveaway that she was up to something. 

"Don't think I didn't see your hand sliding over here, fork poised, ready to spear one of my crab cakes," he admonished, sending his friend a speaking look as he curled an arm protectively around his lunch container.

"Dammit." Daphne pouted, before entreating, "Couldn't you give me one more? You can eat your fill at the diner this afternoon."

Unable to completely resist her beseeching brown eyes, Justin cut one of the patties in two, giving Daph the larger piece.

"Ta," she thanked him, happily munching away. Flapping a hand at him, she gave permission, "You can go on now."

"I'd better eat this first," the boy joked, "or it'll go down your gullet instead of mine." He took a bite, followed by a swallow of milk, and then explained the circumstances in detail. When he finally reached the point where Michael had smarmed, "If you wanna ditch boring Ted after we eat our crab cakes, I'm available to show you a good time, Big Boy." while he and Brian stood frozen near the booth, Daphne's jaw had dropped almost to the table.

"He really said that?"

"Word for word," Justin affirmed. "It's burned into my memory."

"Gross," Daphne opined, wiping her hands on a napkin before opening the Oreos, removing a few, and nudging the package toward her friend. "So what'd this Ben character do? He must've been completely turned off by the little pissant."

"He made it clear he wasn't available," the blond teen revealed, "even though he was really nice and polite about it, which could be part of the reason Michael didn't cotton on that he was being rejected. The berk interrupted what Ben was saying, nattering on about how Ted wouldn't really mind if Ben just let him down gently. He implied that while Ted was out of Ben's league, it'd be different with Michael."

"Fuck," Daphne breathed out, a cookie suspended partway to her mouth.

"Yeah." Justin nodded in disgust. "I was still frozen in shock, but Brian finally got his feet unstuck from the floor and made an effort to defuse the situation before Ted got back from the restroom. After he greeted Ben - turns out the guy is a professor - Michael came up with this ridiculously pathetic spiel about how was only testing Ben, to make sure he was good enough for ‘plain old Ted.'"

Daphne giggled. "He hit on a professor? Most people can run rings around Michael mentally, I suspect, but a professor would be way out of his league."

"That was the funny part," Justin acknowledged. "You should've seen Michael's eyes bug out when he squeaked, ‘You're a professor?'"

After they stopped laughing, Justin explained how he'd confronted Brian later that evening and how they resolved that his ex would sound out Ted, only divulging what Michael had done if the older man indicated he'd want to know about something like that. 

"I'm like you, Jus," Daphne said after a thoughtful pause. "I'd want to know if someone hit on my boyfriend. But Brian could be right about not interfering; it might make matters worse, especially if Ted ends up being really hurt. I mean think of the repercussions if he never talked to Michael again. It would serve the nitwit right, but what about the extended family, especially Deb?"

"Christ," Justin breathed out, "I never thought about that. I wouldn't want my surrogate mum to be hurt. She did her best to raise Michael right, and of course she loves the muppet." His brow furrowed in concentration, he solicited, "What do you think I should do? It's so weird to be in the position of knowing more about proper etiquette than an older man."

"You mean behaving with common human decency?" Daphne snarked. "He should know better than to stab a friend in the back."

Justin shrugged. "It's debatable whether Mikey realises he contravened the rules of friendship. He was supposedly being a good friend, protecting Ted from Big Bad Ben."

"Yeah," Daphne chuckled, "all that without even knowing the guy's name or that he's a professor."

"He was blinded by a handsome face and the muscles rippling beneath the professor's clothes," Justin quipped. "Nice of him not to want the same to happen to Ted."

"Michael has a pretty good-looking, muscular bloke of his own," Daph observed. "Maybe you should wait and see what happens? If he's happy with Dr Dave, he probably won't hit on Ben again."

"I'll do that," the boy concurred, relieved to have talked out the matter with his friend. Now maybe it would stop nagging at him.

"At least you got Brian to talk to you - and to agree to approach Ted." Daphne smiled at him encouragingly. "That's good, right?"

"Hmm," Justin replied noncommittally.

The curly haired girl raised a questioning eyebrow. "That's not good?" she asked.

"He was just so... maddening." Justin threw his hands up in the air as he tried to express his conflicted feelings in regard to his former lover.

"Maddening how?" his best friend queried, leaning closer.

"Well, it was kinda flattering when he asked me to freelance for his new company, but then-"

"Wait, he what?" Daph shrieked. "You just totally glossed over that, Justin! He asked you to work for him?"

"You didn't let me finish," the boy grumbled. "I really don't know how much he wants me to do for him or how many hours would be involved. I guess the pay would be decent, though, since the next thing out of his mouth was an assertion that I could give up the go-go dancing."

The girl grinned. "That's great, Jus! I mean, I did want to come down and see you shake your arse to ‘In the Navy' at least once, but this," she waved her arms around, "is great."

"It's not great," Justin denied, folding his arms across his chest. "It's Brian deciding for me what I should do. What's so great about that?"

Daphne made a weird face. "O-kay," she said slowly, "so you're not taking the job then?"

The blond glared at his friend. "Of course I'm going to take the job; it's a chance to use my art professionally. But that doesn't mean I have to give up dancing."

His best friend was straight out scowling at that point. "Oh, I didn't think you'd ditch the diner," she said quietly. "Debbie will be heartbroken."

"I'm not quitting the diner!" Justin yelled, causing heads to turn in their direction.

"Then I don't get it!" Daph yelled right back. "You're gonna stop going to school or something? What the hell are you going to do, Jus?"

"Sure, I'm going to drop out of school," the boy sneered. "That would be beyond dumb, Daphne. I don't get why ‘everyone' thinks I have to give up something, though. Working for Brian will probably just be temporary - he's bound to hire a full-time artist soon - and it may not involve very many hours."

His friend gave him a cautious look. "Did you think this through? There's only so much you can do in a day, Justin; you're not Superman."

"I know," the lad begrudgingly acknowledged. Daphne wasn't saying anything he hadn't thought, but... "If I can manage it, though, I'll be able to pay Brian back sooner, so I want to give it a try."

Daph laughed, lightening up. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it - Brian paying you to work for him, so that you can turn around and repay him?"

The blond shrugged, smiling helplessly. "I guess," he admitted. "I'm not planning on him finding out, though."

Daph opened her mouth to remark something, but what came out was a breathless ‘Oof' as she got unexpectedly shoved in the back by a passing jock. 

"Hey, Chambers!" the idiot hollered. "Why don't you ditch the poofter and show me your secret chamber?" he suggested, accompanying his words with a lewd thrust of the hips.

"Ew," Daph scowled in disgust, to the merriment of the jock's friends. "My chamber is authorised personnel only, thanks."

"He got your name wrong," Justin uttered drily, swallowing the last bit of his crab cake. "Makes him a great candidate to relieve you of your virginity."

His friend rolled her eyes in such a way, Justin wondered how she managed to keep them in her head. "Fuck off," she said with a laugh.

Casting a glance at the wall clock, Justin suggested, "We'd both better ‘fuck off' to physics if we don't want to be late."

"Ugh," Daph commented, disgust clear on her face. "Do we really have to?" she whined.

"Yeah, if you want to have a chance of earning that bonus from your dad," Justin reminded her.

"The things I do for a bit of filthy lucre," Daphne grumbled as she stood up.

"You could always try shaking your wares at a titty bar instead," the blond joked.

"I'd consider it - if my bazookas were big enough to generate enough of the ready to justify the effort." Daphne sighed, "Unfortunately, we've already established that isn't the case."

"There was no we involved," Justin retorted as they carried their trays to the kitchen window. "That was a unilateral assumption on your part. I think your-" the blond boy stumbled at referring to that part of the anatomy a second time, "uh, mammary glands are perky." Waving a hand in the general direction of her chest, he noted, "At least they don't flop around like the bigger ones do."

His friend sighed again. "Most guys seem to think that bigger is better. Yours is hardly the most reliable opinion, Jus."

The lad stopped dead, struck by a horrifying thought as they were about to exit the canteen. "Uh, you're not gonna get one of those boob jobs, are you?"

"Of course not!" his friend refuted, to Justin's immense relief. With her tiny frame, he couldn't imagine how she'd stand erect; the augmented breasts would surely weigh her down.

"I wouldn't mind at all if mine were to increase in size naturally," Daphne wished, tugging Justin out of the way of other students leaving the canteen. "But breast enlargement is a chancy business; it can cause all sorts of health problems later on."

"Thank fuck," the lad mumbled, earning an elbow in the side from his bestie and a teasing, "You're supposed to be supportive, Jus."

Groaning at the terrible joke, Justin opted to change the subject as they made their way to the physics classroom. "How do you think you did on the calculus test this morning?"

"Besides the fact that, unlike a certain smarty-pants, I needed every single minute of class time to answer almost all of the questions," Daphne reckoned, "I'm pretty sure I did better than on any test so far - maybe as high as a B."

"That's rad, Daph," Justin exclaimed, giving his friend a high five. "You're improving really quickly."

"Not quickly enough. I'm going to have to do better than that to pull my overall grade up to a B-. No dough from my dad if I can't manage that." She fretted, "I may have to fall back on that striptease idea of yours, after all, Jus."

The blond gave her a roll of his eyes. "Like that's gonna happen, Daph. You have your dad so wrapped around your little finger that you'll be able to coax money out of him regardless."

"True," the girl admitted, "but I'd like to earn it, you know?"

"There's time yet to do just that," Justin assured her. "We've got the mandatory study session tomorrow, and then I'll tutor you some more on Wednesday."

"Your tutoring gave me a real boost," Daphne claimed as she entered the classroom ahead of Justin. "And although I can hardly believe I'm saying this, I'm actually looking forward to that mandatory session. I need every possible edge if I'm going to dig my way out of the hole I got myself into."

"You'll manage," Justin stated confidently. 

"With your help," his friend agreed. "I do wish it didn't involve coping with Dickhead Dixon on a Saturday, though."

"Even Chris doesn't want to see his mug on the weekend," a voice interjected from behind them.

Justin whirled around, surprised to discover that it was Sydney who had spoken.

"Shut your gob, Taylor," the cheerleader laughed, less meanly than had been her wont, "or you'll catch flies." With that she sauntered over to her usual desk, slouching down and looking bored.

Daphne giggled as they made their way to their seats. "She's right, Jus. That was quite the fly-catching expression."

The blond shot her an affronted look, pointedly ignoring his friend as he dug his textbook out of his backpack. Girls, he thought in exasperation, always ganging up on people.

Finally, Brian thought to himself as he entered the diner that afternoon and espied just the person he needed to ease the ache in his balls. The blond's perfect bubble butt was enticingly displayed as he bent over, chucking a young child under the chin. As he sauntered closer, the tyke blew a spit bubble against Justin's cheek.

Yuck! Completely the wrong kind of bodily fluids in Brian's opinion. What was it with blonds anyhow, that they had to coo over every baby they encountered? It was perfectly understandable with Gus, the brunet stud mused, since his son was a reflection of his own good looks. But other babies - why bother?

When Brian overheard the teen address the two lesbians seated in the booth, "The teething star did the trick then?" it made him grimace. Gus still didn't have a single tooth, which was a bone of contention whenever the neighbourhood dykes descended on Lindsay and Melanie and started bragging about how their kids had gotten teeth at four months or whenever-the-fuck.

The blonde lezzie beamed at Justin. "It did! Chrissy has been a much happier baby since we got one for her."

"Which means we're getting some proper rest," the other woman chimed in, chuckling wryly. "I don't have bags under my eyes for the first time in forever."

"When we're ready to get pregnant again," the blonde asserted, "we'll be prepared for any eventuality, including a teething two-month-old or..."

"...for the baby to be gnashing its teeth as it comes out of the womb," her partner concluded.

Both Brian and Justin flinched at that appalling picture. "Kid like that'll never make a cocksucker," Brian muttered. 

He mustn't have been all that quiet, however, Justin glancing over his shoulder at him in amused agreement. Fortunately, neither of the carpet munchers heard him, so he wasn't subjected to a bulldyke tirade.

"Let me know if you want more tea, ladies," the teenager offered. "And if you get hungry, you should definitely try the crab cakes. The supply's getting low, so they probably won't be available past tomorrow."

"Ooh, we can't miss out on the crab!" the blonde squealed. "We'll be giving you our order in a little while."

"Just give me a shout," the lad advised, before turning toward Brian. "You're here earlier than usual. Did you need a cup of sugar to rev your engine?"

"My engine is always fully primed." The brunet stud leered at the blond. "Care to take it for a test drive?"

"Huh?" Justin momentarily looked poleaxed, but then he frowned, crossly rebuking, "Very funny, Brian. You decided you'd had enough of me fine-tuning your engine, remember?"

Dammit. Brian wanted to kick himself for his less than suave approach - he'd meant to build up to the ‘come over for a fuck' invitation. Now he was going to have to smooth things over before trying again. It wouldn't do, though, for the lad to see that his rejection smarted a bit, so the adman insouciantly remarked, "I see you've forgotten how to engage in witty repartee, Sunshine."

"Oh, there was some wit buried in there somewhere?" Justin snarked.

Double damn. The lad was too sharp by half, and it was hard for Brian to think straight, what with his blue balls clamouring ever more stridently for attention. Ignoring the teen's barbed comment, he glanced around, pleased to note that he'd timed his visit accurately - arriving during the lull that usually occurred between the early dinner crowd and those who ate later on. It was also well before any of the gang could be expected to show their faces, so there wouldn't be any busybodies butting in on their conversation. "Can you take a break?" he asked. "I'd like to talk to you about some of the art projects I have in mind."

Justin eyed him suspiciously. "Promise you aren't going to lecture me about the dance gig?"

The adman could feel his muscles tensing up. He very much would like to lecture Justin about his stupidity, but that wouldn't get the lad into his bed. "Nope. It's your funeral," he grunted.

That stellar assessment earned him a glare, but after looking around the quiet eatery, Justin acquiesced. "Let me just tell Kiki I'm taking my break, and I'll join you in a sec. You want coffee?"

Brian nodded yes, before settling into a booth midway down the windowed wall, facing the door so he'd be prepared in case any of the gang did show up unexpectedly early.

Less than two minutes passed before Justin bustled over to the table, a tray laden with coffee and a plate with some kind of fruity dessert in his hands, a sketchpad tucked under one arm.

"What's that?" the older man questioned, eyeing the sweet askance as it oozed something red.

The blond brat had the temerity to chide, "Don't get your panties in a wad, Bri," as he set down the cups of coffee and the dessert. "This raspberry tart's for me, not you. Not that it would hurt you to have a bite; it's nowhere near seven o'clock."

Feigning indifference, the stud muttered, "Whatever." Bloody tart did look tempting, and he had the perfect exercise planned, which would work off more than the carbs contained in just one bite... The brunet decided he'd wait a moment and see if the lad scarfed it down too fast for him to get a taste. If not, he might try a nibble.

"Wait a minute." Brian frowned when he looked down at his cup of coffee, which had only been filled about halfway, as compared to the full one in front of Justin. "Why are you shorting me on the coffee?"

The blond gave him a ‘duh' look. "I didn't short you. I just left room for your mountain of sugar."

"Har de har," Brian grumbled. "I don't use that much sugar," he insisted, turning the sugar dispenser upside down and shaking some of the white granules into his coffee. He stared at the teen the entire time, daring him to dispute the facts.

"Uh-huh," Justin taunted. "Why's your cup overflowing then?"

"Shit," Brian cursed, looking down to see sugar streaming out of the container and coffee slopping over the sides of the cup into the saucer.

"I'll get you a fresh cup," a giggling Justin offered, rising from the booth and removing the messy dishes. "That might be a bit much sugar, even for you."

"So what do you want me to work on?" the teen inquired after placing a fresh, half-filled cup on a clean saucer in front of Brian. He pushed the dessert plate to one side, where it ended up centered between the two men, before flipping open his sketch pad and looking at Brian inquiringly.

"You can begin with designs for a company logo," Brian replied, deliberately not elaborating on the statement.

"Did you have something you wanted me to base that logo on?" Justin queried. "Or perhaps you want an image of an advertising superhero emerging from..." The boy trailed off, apparently trying to envision the right setting.

The lad's humorous proposal for an emblem solidified Brian's certainty that Justin was the artist responsible for the likeness on his AdStud coffee mug. He still hadn't puzzled out how Cynthia acquired the drawing, but he doubted the teenager knew anything about it. The kid couldn't dissemble that well; he'd have snickered or shown some other sign of amusement by now if he was in on the joke.

The adman was tempted to torture Justin for a little longer by withholding his decision to go with Justin's suggested name for the agency - he could tell it was killing the boy not to ask. Since he could hardly expect the lad to come up with any decent ideas if he did that, though - and in the interest of luring Justin to come home with him - Brian capitulated, drawling, "Some whiz kid came up with a bloody brilliant name for the company. You can use that as a starting point."

Good decision, Brian congratulated himself when Justin beamed at him. "Anything else?" the teenager asked, his pencil already flying across the paper in his sketch pad, scribbling a warped-looking ‘K'.

"What the fuck is that?" Brian questioned. Even if it was only a first effort, he'd expected something more elegant.

Justin threw him an unimpressed glance. "That," he said slowly, "is my thought process."

Brian didn't want to critique the lad just yet - regardless of how lame his ‘thought process' might be - so he absently stabbed at the raspberry pastry with his spoon. "What the fuck?" he spluttered, the metal utensil clanking against the plate, on which only a few crumbs remained. 

The blond brat quirked an eyebrow at him. "Someone must've eaten it," he deadpanned. 

Brian sniffed haughtily. "No wonder your design looks like a child tried to write their name," he snarked. "If you concentrated a bit more on your work than on your stomach, then-"

"It's not my design!" Justin interrupted him. "It's a thought process. I scribble something down, while imagining what the final result might look like. Besides," he added, "it's your spoon that's coated in red goop, not mine."

Hastily sucking the evidence off of his spoon, Brian claimed, "I don't know what you're talking about. I just had one bite."

Justin rolled his lips in amusement. "Sure."

The adman glared at the boy. "Let's get back on topic. I'll accept that your lopsided ‘K' is a very underwhelming first draft and allow you to take a stab at the boards for my first account. Let me know if you come up with a way to make taxes sexy, and I'll work up advertising copy to fit the art."

Raising a questioning eyebrow, Justin repeated, "Taxes?"

"It's for an accounting firm," Brian disclosed. "A good part of their annual income derives from tax preparation."

"That's," he paused, searching for an appropriate word. "Unfortunate," he finished.

"To say the least," the adman concurred drily. "No wonder Theodore jumped at the chance to come work for me."

"Wait, your client is Wertshafter? Ted's firm?" the blond questioned, surprised.

"Yes," Brian divulged. "When Theodore turned in his resignation, he touted me to his old boss, prompting Wertshafter to contact me. I won't have any problem increasing his business - a media blitz will take care of that - but I want the campaign to have the sex appeal that will be a hallmark of my agency."

Justin shrugged. "I can't think of an angle right now."

"Just let it roll around in that bright, little, blond head of yours," the adman urged, smirking at the teenager.

"My brain is fresher than yours, since it's more than a decade younger," Justin quipped. "Besides, blonds do it better."

Whatever the lad actually meant by ‘do it,' the brunet stud considered it to practically be an engraved invitation, and he wasn't going to let his opportunity slip away. Pretending to be completely relaxed, he leaned back, resting one arm along the top of the banquette. "We're going to be spending quite a bit of time together, working on various projects," he commented.

"Yeah?" Justin responded, clearly wondering why Brian was stating the obvious.

"It'd be convenient" - Brian made sure to stress ‘convenient' so the lad wouldn't mistake what he was offering - "if you were to stay at the loft occasionally. We'll doubtless be working deep into the night." The brunet stud spoke carefully, endeavouring to sound casual. Fuck, he thought. This had to work out; he was desperate to get laid. "Maybe even tonight?" he proposed.

The teenager simply stared at him for long moments, mouth agape. "You mean you were serious earlier with that ‘engine' shit?" he finally asked.

Brian winced at having his first, admittedly crass, effort dismissed that way. "Sure," he managed to reply in an offhand tone. "Why not? You have a better offer on tap?" If it was that Bob fucker, he mused, he was going to hunt the guy down and-

Justin interrupted his plans for Bob's demise, when he challenged hotly, "What business of yours is it who I fuck?"

"I don't care who you fuck," Brian denied, quashing the niggling voice in his hindbrain that jeered at him for lying. "I just thought you might like to roll around on my new mattress - test its durability."

"You want me - the guy you booted out for supposedly not setting the alarm - to come over for a fuckathon on the mattress you bought to replace the one the burglars violated?" Rather than rising in pitch, Justin's voice had gotten lower, as he growled out the question, angry spots of red in his formerly pale cheeks.

Even though Brian had begun to suspect that Justin might not have been at fault for the robbery, he still didn't know for sure, and he certainly wasn't ready to admit anything to the boy. Instead, he shrugged, allowing, "I may have been a bit harsh. In any case, I'm willing to forgive you."

"A bit harsh," the teenager echoed, disbelief etched across his features. "You know what, Brian? You can go fuck yourself. You have yet to say you're sorry for accusing me of carelessness in front of our friends, and I'd damned well better hear that apology before I will consider forgiving you." 

Really, the boy was being utterly ridiculous. Brian started to protest, "There's no call for histrionics-" when Justin cut him off.

"If you really wanted to seduce me for a meaningless fuck," the boy sneered, "I'd think you would at least have bothered to learn my schedule. I dance at Babylon on Fridays and Saturdays, remember?" With that, the teenager stood up, collected the dirty dishes, and stomped off to the kitchen.

Brian stared after him, barely able to believe his well-meant invitation, purely intended to relieve sexual tension, had turned into such a tits-up disaster. There was no way he was going to chase after the lad and apologise - at least not until he figured out a way to do so without uttering a pathetic "I'm sorry" - so he'd have to come up with some other solution to relieve his sexual frustration.

The brunet stud rose carefully from his seat, mindful of his blue balls, which ached horribly. The one saving grace in this mess, he reflected, was that the diner was still mostly empty, meaning no one had observed him crashing and burning. Brian took his wallet from his jeans, dropping a note on the table, leaving twenty as a tip. With a yearning look toward the kitchen, he then donned his coat and strode out of the diner.

Shortly after Brian departed, Justin emerged from the back of the diner. When he saw that his former lover had left, he relaxed slightly, although he was still fuming. He grabbed a damp cloth and went to wipe down the table, startled when he discovered a twenty dollar bill on the table.

Justin hesitantly picked up the money, which was way too large a tip for a cup of coffee. He couldn't help feeling weird about the overly generous gratuity. It annoyed him that while he was busting his butt working two jobs to pay the man back, Brian could just throw money around like this. Too irritated to take into account that his former lover knew nothing about the efforts he was making to repay him, he mused that if he deposited the money in the bank account, it would ultimately end up back in Brian's pocket. That would wipe the slate clean.

For the second time that afternoon, Justin trotted over to Kiki. "Erm, would you mind if I ran a quick errand?" he queried. "I don't mean to leave you in the lurch, but there's something I need to take care of."

"Relax, Sunshine," the tranny replied, smiling at the flustered teen. "It's so quiet at the moment, I could almost fall asleep. Go run your errand. Shoo!" she insisted, flapping the bottom of her apron at him.

Justin still didn't feel right about taking what amounted to a double break, so he didn't bother to remove his apron, just pulling on his jacket before jogging the couple of blocks to PNC Bank. When he entered the bank, there was no one in line, so he was able to walk directly up to a teller. A bit short of breath, he gasped, "Um, I'd like to make a deposit, please."

"Your account number and the amount you'd like to deposit, young man?"

"Er, one second," the embarrassed teen replied, thinking he should have filled out a deposit slip before stepping up to the window. He scrambled around for his wallet and removed a tattered piece of paper which, along with the twenty, he shoved at the man behind the window.

When the man glanced at the money and then at him, Justin belatedly realized his name tag indicated he was a branch manager. He flushed, assuming the man thought he was an idiot for wanting to deposit such a paltry amount.

The manager surprised him, though, nodding approvingly and stating, "Good for you, young man. I wish more young people were conscientious about saving their money; small amounts add up quickly."

The blond lad smiled back abashedly. He wouldn't be nearly as ‘conscientious' if he weren't trying to pay back Brian, he was sure. "Thanks," was all he said, however, as he accepted the receipt the manager handed to him.

Justin heaved a sigh of relief as he jogged back to the diner. Now that the money had been deposited, he felt better. He'd been tempted to apply it toward a pair of warm, waterproof boots, but he was proud of himself for not giving in.

Meanwhile, Brian was fuming as he sat behind the wheel of his jeep and scowled at the snow that had begun falling outside. Miserable weather for a miserable day, he thought sourly. He couldn't understand what Justin's problem was - first the boy was pissed he had kicked him out, and now he was angry because he asked him back? Why did the blond always have to make everything so complicated?

Slamming his palms against the steering wheel in frustration, Brian adjusted his trousers. It was starting to get really uncomfortable to sit, and the brunet knew he had to do something about his blue balls or they might just fall off.

He turned his key in the ignition and slowly pulled out from the curb, joining the rest of the early evening traffic. Maybe he'd just drive around the neighbourhood for a while and pick someone off the street - he was sure many a fag would be willing to come with him. Besides, a similar approach had worked for him before - he had found Justin underneath a lamppost, after all.

Brian slowly rolled down Liberty Avenue, window shopping for a passable-looking guy that could satiate his hunger, when he noticed a familiar couple making out in front of Ript, the local gym. The older guy, who was wearing an expensive, dark blue winter coat and a fedora hat of all things, was pressing his younger lover into a wall, running a hand through his reddish blond hair and shoving his tongue in his mouth.

Good for him, Brian thought. The fedora-bloke looked to be around fifty, while his reasonably hot companion had to be in his early thirties. The adman secretly hoped he'd have a game like that when he was - shudder - fifty. On second thought, it might not have been game that allowed the old guy to snag his redhead - could've been the heaps of money he clearly had.

His brain suddenly came to an abrupt halt as he remembered where he had seen the couple before. That horrid night at Babylon, it had been these two that had helped him get rid of his insistent trick. The strawberry blond had been the first to notice something was wrong, deciding to speak up. When that hadn't helped, his older lover used some of his marine know-how to knock the persistent dude on his arse.

Shivering involuntarily at the memory, Brian balked. Sure, cruising for guys off the street was a good idea in theory, but in reality, anything could happen. It would be better to find someone he knew he could trust, and as his first choice of fuck had fallen through, his only other option was to look for a professional. Not some dirty hustler off the streets, mind you, but rather someone who was guaranteed to be clean and who would stop if he told them to stop.

After deciding it would be best to go with an escort, Brian continued on to his loft. He pulled into an empty parking space a block away from his apartment building, then quickly made his way along the slippery pavement. Once home, he charged upstairs, taking the steps three at a time, anxious for some relief, the denim of his jeans abrading his balls the whole way. Stupid of him to have gone commando, the stud reflected, but he'd thought the blond would be a sure thing - and that maybe the brat would be enticed to give him a hand job in the jeep.

Brian swore when the keys dropped from his fingers as he went to insert the correct one in the keyhole. Once he finally succeeded in opening the door, he slammed it shut behind him, leaned back against it, and frantically pushed down his jeans. That rubbing action had been too much - he needed to take off the edge now, and then he'd call the escort service he had on speed-dial.

The brunet tugged at his shaft, once, twice, and then it was over, viscous fluid arcing outward before dropping onto the hardwood floor. Damn, that was over embarrassingly fast.

Brian quickly shrugged off his almost premature ejaculation, thankful that no one else had been around to witness his performance. At least he should now be able to give a lucky guy the ride of his life, the stud thought. He sauntered over to his landline, where he had the number for the escort agency stored - he didn't have the number programmed into his mobile since he had no need for it when he was out and about. Pressing ‘6', he listened as the phone rang.

"Supreme Escorts at your service," a smooth tenor announced. "What's your pleasure?"

Brian described what he wanted in specific detail and then asked, "How long till you can deliver?"

He heard muted clicking noises at the other end of the line, as the man presumably searched a database for someone who matched his request. "It looks like we can have a companion there within ninety minutes," the dispatcher eventually replied.

"Ninety minutes?" Brian complained. "Why the fuck do you need that much time? Are short blonds such a rarity?"

"You asked for a bit more than that," the man primly retorted. "The best match for your request can't be at your place any earlier."

The brunet stud scowled, realising the ‘best match' must currently be working. "Make sure he cleans up thoroughly," he demanded, revolted by the notion of dealing with sloppy seconds.

He hung up while the dispatcher was squawking, "I assure you, sir, our companions-"

How the fuck was he going to while away the next hour and a half? Brian wondered, as he grabbed a rag and wiped his come off the floor. If he wanted the Ukrainian girl to keep cleaning his loft, he'd better not leave it there, even if it did add to the ambiance of the place.

The brunet's stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since that morning, when Cynthia had arrived with bagels. The measly bite or two of raspberry pastry that he'd consumed at the diner didn't count. Since there was plenty of time to eat, before his paid companion would arrive, Brian pressed ‘5' for Thai takeout and ordered one of his favourites, crab curry. The restaurant, he noted wryly, would have his meal there in fifteen minutes. Why the fuck couldn't Supreme Escorts provide the same kind of rapid service? Rent boys were a dime a dozen, after all.

Precisely ninety minutes later, a bare-chested Brian was tapping the toes of one foot against the floor, waiting for the promised escort to arrive. He'd eaten, showered, checked the stock reports, turned the news on and then immediately off again, and spent a good twenty minutes fretting about whether his bid for the bathhouse would be accepted. He'd barely resisted the temptation to call Theodore to discuss the bid, but stopped himself at the last minute. He didn't want to look like a neurotic idiot.

The brunet glared at his Crosby wall clock as the minutes dragged by. Finally, at 8:36, a light knocking sounded against metal. He strode over to the door, slid it open, and brusquely greeted the escort, "You're late."

"Uh," the young man stuttered, "the boss told me ninety minutes" - he looked at his wristwatch, a cheap Timex - "and that means I'm ten minutes early."

"Bullshit," Brian snapped; "it's been more than an hour and a half since I talked to the dispatcher at your agency."

Apparently remembering that he was supposed to please his customer, not argue with him, the escort shrugged. "Sure," he said, "you're right. I'm sorry to be late. Can I come in?"

Brian moved out of the doorway, nodding for him to enter. At least the kid had blond hair, he observed, although it was a dirty blond, not the bright gold he'd wanted.

"I'm Sasha," the boy introduced himself as he stepped over the doorsill. "Wow, this is a nice place," he continued as he took in his surroundings. "Hey is that a-"

"Shut it," Brian ordered. He didn't give a fuck about the kid's name, and he was irritated by his inane babbling. His voice was too high-pitched and had a strange, whistling atonality. It was nothing like that of the blond he wished were standing in front of him. The stud jerked his chin toward the bedroom. "Up there," he commanded.

The escort's expression turned mulish. "Not before I collect my fee," he asserted.

"Christ," Brian muttered as he snagged his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. The boy did have a right to be paid for services rendered, even if it was taking forever to get to the ‘rendering.'

The brunet counted out the money into the lad's open palm, looking him in the eye as he did so. Noticing his eyes were more grey than blue, and that there were fine lines around them, suggesting the ‘boy' must be at least twenty-five, Brian snorted. Best match, my ass, he thought; any halfway competent escort agency should've been able to meet his specifications more closely.

"Now lose the clothes," the stud ordered, "and get up there. No talking," he reiterated, when the blond opened his mouth again.

Shutting his gob, the escort complied, climbing the two steps to the bedroom area and stripping, letting his clothes drop to the floor.

Brian sauntered closer, inspecting the lad. His nostrils flared when he was only a few inches away. His scent was completely wrong, with some kind of odd floral tang, maybe from whatever inferior soap he'd used. The brunet shook his head in an effort to dispel the lavender-ish aroma, breathing through his mouth instead of his nose.

Evidently taking that as an invitation, the escort stood on his tiptoes, wrapped his arms around Brian's neck, and tried to kiss him.

"No kissing," Brian rebuffed him. "Just do what you're told and don't take the initiative."

The boy rolled his eyes slightly, but then stood stock still and waited for further instructions.

"Good," Brian said before running a hand down his torso, stopping to pinch a nipple. Dammit. He wished the lad had a nipple ring; that would make him a more acceptable, albeit fleeting, stand-in for the other blond.

Backing up a few steps, he ordered, "Turn around," accompanying the words with a circular motion of his forefinger.

The boy immediately obeyed.

As Brian went to shove him face first onto the bed, he noticed a tramp stamp just above the swell of the lad's bum. Jesus. Could it get any tackier than a rainbow? It wasn't as if there was any question that the boy was gay.

Blinking the image away, Brian moved closer so he wouldn't have to look at the ugly tattoo. He didn't have to see the kid's ass, which was way too flat, in order to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.

The brunet reached over to the bedside table and pumped some lube onto his fingers, before inserting one digit into the boy's hole. Brian's finger slid in so quickly, it startled him. Not only was his ass flat, it was also exceedingly loose. Even a shaft as large as Brian's was going to be flailing for purchase in that cavern.

Brian sighed. This was beginning to seem like a lot of bother, but he still wanted to get off. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pushed them down below his hips. He quickly grabbed a condom packet from the handy dish next to the lube, tore it open with his teeth, discarded the wrapper, and unrolled the condom onto his erection - all within a few seconds.

When the lad turned his head to look at him, Brian threaded his hand into the lad's hair and pushed his face into the duvet. The hair, he noted, was too coarse, nothing like the fine silk he'd been accustomed to.

Positioning his cock at the boy's entrance, Brian pressed forward. The fit was awkward since the escort was shorter than he'd realised, nearly causing Brian to miss his aim. The stud had a vague thought that he'd be laughing hysterically if he were watching this pitiful attempt at sex. He grunted, squatting down further so he could push in all the way. As he'd feared, the boy's flaccid arse barely gripped his cock. No point quitting now, however, since he was all suited up, even if this ass ranked as the loosest he'd ever encountered. Doing his best to imagine that it was Justin beneath him, Brian pulled back and surged forward, again and again.

The illusion that it was the other blond he was fucking didn't hold up for long. Finally, after what must've been at least ten minutes of vigorous, yet unsatisfying, activity, Brian came, unloading into the condom. He immediately pulled out, removed the condom, tied it off, and tossed it aside.

That really couldn't have been any more disappointing, he mused as he demanded, "Get dressed and get out."

The escort propped himself up on his elbows before staggering to his feet. "That was great," he slurred; "best I've had all year. Want to go another round?" he asked hopefully. "No charge."

Brian snorted. "Are you joking? You'd have to pay me to go another round," he snarked, before adding, "and trust me, you couldn't afford me."

The boy pouted as he slowly moved away from the bed and pulled on his clothes. "Are you sure?" he whined, batting his eyes flirtatiously. "I don't have any other customers tonight."

The brunet rolled his eyes. "Do you have a hearing problem?" he queried. "Do as I said and get out of here."

Brian tugged his jeans up over his hips, following along behind the crestfallen lad to making sure he didn't linger. Once he'd shut the door on the boy, he returned to the bedroom, intent on retrieving a reefer from his toy box so he could put the disappointing experience behind him. 

He stopped dead as he reached under the bed, however, dismayed by the massive wet spot on his duvet. Brian hadn't even realised the boy had come, his loose ass not clamping down on his shaft when he ejaculated. "Fuck," Brian grumbled. This was the only thing the escort and Justin had in common - they'd both come on his bedding. The stud wistfully recalled how he'd chided Justin for staining his duvet that night, wishing the boy were here now, so he could do it all over again.

After removing two blunts from the toy box - he didn't think one would be enough - Brian pushed the ruined duvet out of the way, flopped down on the bed, and lit up. What should he do now? He wasn't at all satisfied by the rent boy's lacklustre performance. After the longest dry period without fucking since he turned sixteen, he'd expected to go at least a couple rounds with the escort.

As he finished one joint and started on the next, Brian mulled over what he wanted. Part of that was pretty simple - Justin, back in Brian's bed where the boy belonged. Even if the teenager did turn out to have been negligent in regard to the robbery, the brunet decided he could let the matter drop. He probably shouldn't have kicked the lad out so peremptorily, but he'd been in shock from having all his hard-earned possessions vanish, and especially from having his private space violated.

The brunet frowned, concerned that he might be settling for Justin because Babylon no longer felt like a safe haven, thanks to the creep who'd assaulted him in the backroom. He was able to reassure himself, though, that that wasn't the case. He'd been lusting after Justin ever since the lad had moved out; he just wasn't willing to admit it before, what with also having to acknowledge that he'd made a mistake and regretted his actions. No matter how much he tricked, he was always up for fucking the lad. 

It wasn't as if he was incapable of fucking other guys, but his standards had slowly, almost imperceptibly, risen since meeting the blond teenager - Justin had become the yardstick by which all others were measured. He snorted. For fuck's sake, he'd just hired an escort as a Justin substitute, and look what an unmitigated disaster that had been. If he hadn't been intent on getting off, he probably would have fallen asleep mid-fuck, it was so bad.

The suspicion that he might be turning into a muncher floated through his brain, causing the stud to reach down and cradle his balls in one hand. All good, he thought, sagging back against his pillow and blowing a smoke ring at the ceiling. His nuts were still there, and his shaft was hardening against his wrist. Satisfied that he hadn't emasculated himself, Brian resolved that he'd just be more selective about tricks in the future. 

Trolling for tricks would be a lot more fun, though, if he had the blond to come home to - or almost equally as good, to go tricking with him. The brat's enthusiasm for fucking always seemed to inspire greater efforts from the backroom's habitués. Why deny himself, Justin, and the others that pleasure?

The upshot of his musings, Brian determined, was that the blond had to return to his bed. He might've flamed out this afternoon, but he'd do better the next time. He'd just have to strategize carefully beforehand; once he convinced the lad that Brian wanted him for more than just a fuck, it should be pretty much a done deal. There would be no need for him to actually apologise. 

The stud fell asleep, a smile on his lips as he planned Operation Twat Retrieval.

While Brian was trying to solve the ‘Justin problem,' the lad in question was gyrating his hips and wiggling his ass for the horny fags at Babylon. He was having trouble losing himself in the music, however, because Dashonte, the deejay, kept playing In the Navy and Karma Chameleon over and over again. He kept subconsciously touching his ears to make sure they weren't bleeding.

The blond dancer had routines to each of those songs down pat by now which, unfortunately, left him free to dwell on what had happened with Brian that afternoon. Not only was Justin irritated that the older man thought he could have him over for a fuck with a snap of his fingers, he was also frustrated by how ‘everyone' thought he should quit dancing now that he'd be freelancing on top of everything else. He was especially vexed by the fact that his bestie apparently viewed the matter the same way as Brian. Fueled by his indignation, Justin wasn't feeling tired at all as eleven o'clock neared, and he thought he probably could handle everything - three jobs, school, and tutoring. People should show a little confidence in him, for Chrissake.

The teenager began to feel less certain of his ability to cope, however, as the next three hours crawled by. His stamina flagged, and by two in the morning, he was barely staying on his feet. 

When Dashonte announced over the mic, "Last dance, blokes! Get out there and shake your booty!" and In the Navy blasted through the speaker system for the umpteenth time, Justin could have planted one on the disc jockey in gratitude. He didn't have to think about the steps, his feet moving by rote, if less energetically than earlier in the night.

The moment the song ended, the teenager lowered himself down from the bar and staggered toward the dressing area cum break room.

"Hey, man, let me give you a hand," Sven, another go-go boy, offered, slinging an arm around Justin's back and helping him take the last few steps until he could sink onto a bench near their lockers. "You know," Sven proposed, "I could give you something to wake you up. Works wonders for me."

Justin refused with a smile and a shake of his head. "Thanks, I'm fine." He hid a shudder as he recalled how the other dancer had almost knocked him and Vic over, the night the older man had escorted him to Babylon, keeping a wary eye out for the supposed stalker. No matter how tempting, there was no way he was going to pop pills that would affect him like that.

A few minutes later, having struggled into his clothes, Justin headed for the exit. "Want a ride?" Oscar asked as they crossed paths. "I just need help closing up, and then I could give you a lift."

Justin gave the bouncer a weary smile. "That's really nice of you, but I know you don't live in my direction. Now that it's been confirmed that there's no stalker, I'll be fine on my own."

"Be careful anyway," Oscar insisted. "There are all sorts of nutjobs out there."

Mindful of that advice, Justin didn't take the shortcut down an alley, even though it would have gotten him to Debbie's a little sooner. He skidded his way home on the icy sidewalks, stumbling into the house ten minutes later and locking the door securely behind him. Once he reached the staircase, he grabbed hold of the railing, using it to propel himself up the stairs, before caroming off the walls in the corridor and into his room. Too exhausted to undress, the teenager fell face down on the bed, barely finding the strength to check that his alarm was set for the usual time. He didn't dare be late for the mandatory calculus session later that morning - fuck knew how Dixon would retaliate if he wasn't on time. Justin passed out, dreading having to wake up in less than four hours, all so he could make it to St James before eight o'clock on a Saturday.